#Woolen pillows and thick mattresses

[all-turkic]

Oghuz lords gathered for a lavish feast at Bayindir Khan's command

Oghuz lords gathered. Bayindir Khan's servants summoned sons to a white tent, daughters to a crimson pavilion. Lavish feast, rich offerings...

In days of yore, the noble Oghuz lords gathered, one by one. The servants of Bayindir Khan summoned the sons to the white tent, and the daughters to the crimson pavilion. There, they spread thick mattresses beneath them and adorned their backs with double woolen pillows. Before them, on golden trays and within silver basins, lay oils, honeys, and creams; roast meats, kebabs, and rice dishes;…

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Family Is As Family Does

Summary: Ostracized by their very own family, Lestat and Gabrielle find their little oasis of warmth and care between damp and freezing stone walls, away from prying eyes and malevolent mouths.

Pairing: Gabrielle de Lioncourt x Lestat de Lioncourt

Word Count: ~ 2.7k

Content Warnings: PWP 18+!, Incest, Mother/Son Relationship, Whump, Mentions Of Animal Death, Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Family Relations, Emotional Constipation, Angst Galore, Emotional Corruption, Nipple Play, Unprotected Intercourse, The Inherent Mommy Kink Of It All, Female Masturbation

A/N: The brain worms have won!

Tagging: @queer-crusader @blueberrypancakesworld

The young man sniffled quietly, eyes bloodshot from crying so violently that it had soaked through the thin pillow, hardly supporting his aching head. By now, the tears had slowly run dry, for there weren't any left for him to spill, only breathless little noises creeping over a quivering bottom lip every now and again.

Lestat couldn't bring himself to get up, body limp and still halfway frozen from having to walk back home on foot after forcefully putting his horse out of its misery, its blood stained the sleeves of his shirt, a few wayward splatters had it made far enough to even reach the collar. He was nothing short of catatonic; couldn’t bother to pull at the thick woolen blanket to help with the cold, the thought alone threatening to cause pain to jolt through violently strained muscles.

Lestat wanted to be swallowed up by the ground he'd kneeled on, half his legs disappearing in a dense layer of snow dampening his trousers as he'd cradled his dogs, accompanying them until their last breaths had evaporated into the forest. Blood, so much blood painting his surroundings into a hellscape of deep red and blinding white. A strained sob worked its way out of his constricted throat as the awfully fresh memory worked its way to the very forefront of his thoughts again.

Horse dead, his beloved dogs dead, and for what? The endless ridicule of his stone-hearted father and wretched brothers to double down on him in relentless fervor; uplifting themselves by pushing down the putative weak link.

A quiet knock, as soft and gentle as knuckles grazing against old wood could possibly be, made Lestat's breath hitch in the back of his throat, already knowing who was knocking since only his mother ever bothered respecting his personal space.

He pondered, knowing that Gabrielle was waiting on him allowing her in.

“Maman?” It cut through the tissue of his sore throat like dull razor blades, the air passing his vocal cords feeling like sanding paper against his larynx.

“Lestat.” Gabrielle's voice was quiet and nondescript after slipping through a briefly opened door, closing it behind her in the same swift movement.

“What is this?” She bent down to throw a thick piece of wood onto a slowly dying hearth, hungry flames licking and lapping at the dried bark immediately, drenching the somber chamber into flickering orange hues.

“You've heard them just as well as I did, maman.”, It blubbered out of Lestat much more snarky and pertly than he'd aimed, “Whatever I do, it's never enough.”

The young man curled in on himself, spine curving slowly as he pulled his knees closer to his chest, trying to shield himself from a world that outright refused to understand or accept him.

“That is their problem.”, The hay mattress hardly dipped down under the weight of Gabrielle taking a seat right next to her son, hands folded in her lap as she looked down at him with an expression so devoid of everything that Lestat couldn't even tell if she felt any real compassion for him right now, “Their loss. All they know is the hunt and getting drunk. Is that really who you want to prove yourself to?”

Lestat's cheeks were still flushed, under-eyes a bit swollen and puffy from crying as a pursed pout formed on his lips.

“You're soft, tender and they can't appreciate those things, refuse to, Lestat, and you know that just as well as I do. They don't care about books or art or music.” Gabrielle pulled at her heels to slide her feet out of worn-out, thin slippers before draping her lean legs onto the mattress, scooting a little closer to her sulking son.

It pulled at Lestat like an invisible magnet, the prospect of managing a little hug or brief embrace from his mother, arm reaching out to wrap around Gabrielle's waist, pulling her closer until he was able to hide his face in the side of her ribcage. She smelled just like the books she preferred to immerse herself in, that, and the constant lingering embitterment accumulated over decades of giving birth to one disappointment after the other.

Gabrielle didn’t fight Lestats attempts to palm at her, didn’t scoot away as he greedily pawed at her sides to pull himself closer against her. Every once in a while she let it happen, endorsed it even because it reminded her of herself back in a time and place she didn’t have to work herself to laugh or cry or scream, to be happy, allow herself to be sad or ecstatic. Lestat still had enough whimsy and freedom left to go through all these emotions and even though he found himself deeply pained as of right now, bullied to tears yet again by his older brothers, Gabrielle still envied him for she had been left to sit with nothing but numbness for way too long.

“Oh, dear…” Her slender fingers sifted through his wavy strands, fingertips scraping over his scalp, blond hair of her blonde hair.

“I hate them.”, It broke from Lestat’s throat in a pained whimper, “Can’t we just go somewhere? Far far away.”

“Oh, I wish.”, Gabrielle felt something tugging at her insides, something that felt an awful lot like pity for her son, “To Salò or Venice, perhaps. The summers there are warm and bright.”

Bright just like you, she thought, eyes dropping down to watch Lestat pull and almost claw at her in a sense of desperation she knew all too well, although the two of them were the only ones haunted by it in these lifeless halls come day and come night.

The sudden undertones of desperation in his mother's voice stirred Lestat’s attention wide awake. He’d barely heard her letting clear emotions seep through her voice unless she’d been screaming at the top of her lungs but that had happened last over a decade ago as Léon had nearly burned down the stables by playing with fire in the dried hay.

“I hate them, too.” She admitted hesitantly, knowing that spoken word could hardly be unheard again.

“Your father, he's a vile man.”, It spilled from her mouth faster than she could choke it back, yet, it felt good, deliciously vindictive even, “And your brothers are dull gargoyles running after him. But not you, Lestat, you'd never.”

“Maman?” Lestat looked up, heart hurting for his mother because he knew neither of them could change any of it.

“Listen to me, Lestat.”, Gabrielle's gaze drilled into his, eyes darting right down to the very pit of his soul, “Don't let them take that from you, ever. Whatever they do, you bite back, you understand?”

The young man nodded quickly, brows arched up into an expression of confusion and turmoil, emotions thrashing through his senses like a ship being rocked by endlessly crashing waves.

“That is my good boy.” A gush of warmth erupted in his chest, mind reeling in an attempt to remember the last time he'd received any sort of praise like this.

He could hardly keep up with what was happening, his mother, usually ever so indifferent, cradling his reddened face with both hands, thumbs wiping at the remnants of tears as she leaned down to press pale lips to his.

Lestat basked in the affection, greedily tugging at her woolen gown, wanting to drink up all Gabrielle had to offer in the faint hope that she'd grant him more than just fleeting moments of flimsy pain relief; and giving her son more she did.

Something within had breached containment, broken free from whatever tainted corner of her soul, ready to eventually emerge and unload itself into the begging hands of Lestat.

In the span of nothing more than a fluttering heartbeat, once motherly affection turned into something else, something ruled by a hunger that Gabrielle hadn't felt since the first throes of labor, the tearing and ripping pains of birthing a child had sodomized her body, leaving her with flaming red stretch marks from her tits down to the significant bump of her stomach that had stayed with her for weeks after.

Without any sense of resistance, her tongue pushed past Lestat's previously pouty lips, her mouth pressed against his ready to devour and he didn't pull away, not a single hue of disgust in his features as he did quite the contrary and leaned in, hands tightly holding Gabrielle's waist as he groaned into her mouth.

The sound shook her for a brief moment, the forbidden nature of it calling for a better judgment, however, Gabrielle had tasted blood and wanted more for it made her feel alive in a way she hadn't since a violent husband had ripped it all right from her with calloused, unkind hands. Whereas Lestat's hands came warm and gentle against her skin, doing as she did in being greedy, palms shoving under the layer of fabric alike. Her fingers grazed through the soft and curly hairs on his chest whilst his trailed along the soft curve of her stomach, nimble fingers carefully prodding at the round of her tits until curiosity won and he thumped at pebbling nipples, eliciting immediately shocks of unbridled arousal to jolt between Gabrielle's legs; another long lost sensation.

Her cunt was weeping and throbbing around nothing by the time Lestat drew small circles around the sensitive skin, teasing it with feathery touches and drinking in every little sound he pulled from his mother's lips; cut from the same cloth after all, craving what should not be desired with such shameless fervor.

With fingernails lightly drilling into fair skin, Gabrielle led her hand to wander from Lestat’s chest down to the leather laces keeping his pants in place. She didn’t even need to stroke down far to sense him straining against the cloth of his trousers, the feeling of his rock-hard cock pressing against the inside of her wrist successfully deteriorating the last little shreds of reason. She had to have him.

In a moment of nonverbal understanding, Lestat rolled his hips against Gabrielle's palm, silently begging her to get him out of his restraints whilst his thumb still circled and nudged at her stiff nipple.

“Please.” He uttered breathlessly, his other hand following hers down to his crotch and practically pressing it against his pulsing cock, making Gabrielle moan against his lips.

“Please, stay with me…just for a bit.” A new jut of his hips followed the first and Gabrielle nearly tore at the waistband of Lestat's trousers, skinny fingers fumbling with tightly tied laces until she could pull them down right alongside a set of white linen undergarments.

Lestat hissed as her fingers reached him, a sticky dollop of pre-cum oozing from the swollen head of his cock down his length as she languidly stroke down, foreskin pulling back enough to expose the sensitive underside.

He was soft, warm, and inviting, entirely unlike her husband's crude and putrid character, and with every little kiss, each tender brush of lips against lips, Lestat breathed new life into Gabrielle, filling her with a desire so burning and all-consuming that she wouldn't leave him just now, not during a night so harsh and cold, needing each other in more than one way right now.

After a few slow strokes to savor how velvety he felt against her palm, Gabrielle pushed him to the side, having him flat on his back before throwing one leg over his waist.

Lestat just watched, golden hair splayed out to gently frame his face, plush lips slightly agape, and eyes glazed over with adoration. He didn't care for the taboo; he'd always loved his mother in a drastically different way, truly loving her, unlike his brothers who pushed her around whenever they pleased. Lestat didn't mind if this was the way they both came together, meeting each other halfway and dancing around the abyss until one caved in and pulled the other along; if he had to, he'd take the blame.

Gabrielle groaned into the warming air between their bodies and Lestat's hands clasped at her thighs as she lowered herself down on his lap, guiding in to push past soaked labia, fully plunging into sorely missed heat surrounding him. Although his eyelids fluttered, dropping down in the throes of humming pleasure, he looked up at Gabrielle, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders as she started moving above him, her usually unmoved face lighting up with faint blushes of red in her cheeks.

To him, she was beyond beautiful and he didn't care about the scar tissue he'd felt under his fingertips as he'd explored her body, he only cared about her being well, her feeling good for once in this decrepit place now devoid of its former riches just as well as everything else.

Lestat sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, absentmindedly grinding down at the flesh as he watched Gabrielle snaking one hand beneath where her gown piled atop her thighs, a little sigh followed as she started touching herself in the very same rhythm of her hips rocking in his lap. A whim of cheeky curiosity fueled him to let his palms brush up her thighs, thumbs stroking against the insides until he felt her fingers toying with herself, causing her to clench around his twitching cock repeatedly. It felt good, so so damned good, yet, Lestat hardly dared to move more than his hands, mesmerized by the ethereal spectacle right above him; Gabrielle letting go of her composure for the sake of pleasure, fingertips rubbing against her swollen clit and riding Lestat until the myriad of quiet little moans were drowned out by skin slapping against skin.

His breathing was rendered shallow, muscles pulling at him from the inside a little more with every plunge into the wet hot, his body nearly overdosing on bliss unbeknownst to the cold, dark stone walls towering around them; caging them every day anew.

“Maman..” Lestats bottom lip quivered as he let it slip free from between his jaws but Gabrielle was deaf to his whispered warning, too wrapped out in her own arousal to stop - just a little more.

His hands clasped and clawed at her thighs, pushing Gabrielle down onto him as he fell apart at the seams buried pulsing inside of her, filling her with his spent until his high slowly ebbed away, leaving him breathless and with his mouth dropped open to watch his mother bite down on her own hand to keep quiet as she followed suit. Gabrielle climaxed violently, insides twitching and body falling forward, forehead-first against Lestat collar bone, only the shaking truly indicating how it rippled through her in heavy contractions.

“Maman?”, Lestat mouthed against her cheek as he felt unwelcome moisture falling against his chest - she was crying, “I…I’m here.”

The sudden whiplash caught on to him as well, souls thrown into a mix of explosive pleasure and abysmal shame, not regret, however.

“You are not to tell anybody about this.” Gabrielle's voice was sore and quiet again.

“You know, I’d never, I’d-” Lestat didn’t even know what he wanted to say or what he could say to make her feel better, instead, he raised his arms to wrap them around lightly trembling shoulders.

She tried to hide the crying, of course she did, and he left it entirely uncommented, only holding her for as long as she’d let him until the silent weeping had died down to occasional sniffles.

[wcrstarter]

SONJA'S SLEEPING HABITS.

RESIDENCE: Verse dependant. Canon verses she atypically lives in the Castle Corvinus in her private quarters, or a cabin in a remote location of her choosing. Modern verses even if she is involved with the covens it's rare she will stay with them, she will have a city residence of a condo that she keeps private. Most crossover au's she will live in a cabin in the wilds quite happily.

TYPE OF BED: She's not terribly picky, she's slept on a bedroll on the ground before. If she has the option, she does preferred a stuffed mattress when possible and will craft her own if she needs to. However, it's usually more firm than most people like.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Sonja is immune to cold, and is only as warm as her ambient surroundings. She does enjoy her creature comforts, in winter time she will (in most verses) have a thick goose down duvet that she will nestle into. Usually there are woolen knit blankets and animal furs, no more than two at a time. In warmer seasons it's usually a lightweight linen blanket thrown over her bed.

NUMBER OF PILLOWS: Usually only two, one of which she will use as a makeshift body pillow unless she has company, then it'll be given to them instead.

TYPE OF CLOTHING: Either nothing to bed (only in private residences), often just a large shift or shirt (if she can swipe a partner's shirt she's inclined to). If she's travelling its unlikely she would do much of an outfit change just to sleep, she might leave her armour on and simply go to sleep in it comfort be damned. Otherwise it'll be leggings with a large shirt/oversized shirt if she's not fully comfortable where she's bedding down for the night.

DO THEY SLEEP WITH COMPANY?: Depends on verse/other muse involved. If romantically inclined she might want the company, if she views them in a familial platonic manner she might sleep next to them to guard them while they sleep. This would apply to any mortal who would need to rest during the night when she's active.

DO THEY SLEEP BETTER WITH COMPANY?: Yes, especially if she knows them well over a one night stand.

DOES IT MATTER WHERE THEY SLEEP?: Not particularly, in verses where the sun cannot hurt her she enjoys sleeping in the sunlight or under the stars. If she is staying at the residence of someone she doesn't like, she might pretend to be fussier over her sleeping conditions--if its a court setting and she cannot stand the other noble she will deliberately do this and then simply sleep on the floor to be contrary.

WHAT DO THEY DO IF THEY CANNOT FALL ASLEEP?: She'll often sing to herself, cradle songs and war chants, pace around the room/campsite, or read until she finally drifts off. She has a hard time getting her hunting/predator instincts/battle instincts to shut 'off' in order to rest and often suffers racing thoughts closer to her bedtime.

FREQUENT DREAMS, NIGHTMARES: Some verses, her memory of burning under the sun. Most verses its relieving battles she fought in the past, or moments she regrets. Memories she prefers to avoid during her waking hours if she can. She will only talk about them if she truly trusts the other person.

DEEP SLUMBER OR NAPS: Deep slumber, she's too restless to nap unless she's been unable to sleep for days and then it'll be an exhausted driven nap.

WHEN DO THEY SLEEP: When she needs to, when she can no longer put it off, or can finally shake off the insomnia to rest.

WHAT COULD WAKE THEM UP: Sonja's a ambush style predator by nature, the slightest sound or movement will wake her. She might not indicate she's awake and aware, and there is usually a weapon nearby she will use (if she is not the weapon herself).

EARLY OR LATE RISER: Early, she'll only sleep in late if she's truly exhausted/injured, or if she has a bed companion she'll be more inclined to stay where she is and curl up closer to them.

Tagged by: @ithring

Tagging: @penddraig @tornsurvivors @halfvampirehalflycan @sookiestackhcuse @ofcatnaps @parainvestigate @causeitsmyboat @llosgcariad

[ansixilus]

After tea time. The goblin busied himself in making a bed for himself and his guest, seeing how the sky brightened up with lighting and roared with the thunders and whistles of the raging storm. Grabbing from a nearby oak chest blankets, woven shawls and animal skins, he set up a sort of mattress to lay onto. Although it was as thin as a leaf and as feeble as a rotten string, both creatures seemed satisfied.

He was about to start laying down another pelt onto the floor to thicken the mattress, when a thud-like noise made him turn his head.

Once again, it was mimicking him.

The sneaky ghoul has somehow managed to grab a hold on a pillow, heavy and stuffed with goose feathers, and started to fluff it up. It was mechanical in its actions, patting the pillow on the sides before turning it around and hugging it tightly. It turned the pillow over and patted it some more, seemingly not wanting to stop.

“Heh, you sure don’t like being unoccupied, don’t you?”, inquired the goblin, chuckling.

The zombie simply dropped the pillow on top of the mass of furs, blankets, shawls and knitted clothes that formed the makeshift bed. Then it dropped itself onto the soft blankets, rolling over and humming pleased at the smoothness and warmth of its surroundings.

The goblin smiled, pleased that his guest liked its new bed, and laid down onto the shawls and pelts as well, covering his wiggling guest’s body with a thick, soft woolen blanket.

The zombie gurgled, startled and confused.

“Don’t worry. I’m just covering you so you won’t have any cold while you sleep”, the goblin soothed it. It soon understood, its eyelids dropping in calmness. It rolled over once again, its bony back facing its host, and soon fell asleep.

The goblin smiled too, with half-lidded eyes, as he raised his hand and passed it through his guest’s hair, smoothing its feeble strands of hair onto its skull. Facing the remaining hot coals of the fireplace, he soon fell asleep.

He dreamed of laying down onto the warm dry grass of the grasslands around his house, noticing a round, golden sphere when rolling over, trying to reach it with his hand only for it to transform into a large seashell that rolled around; he dreamed of chasing the seashell to the wet, dark forest, tripping over a small root and falling down into a sea of blueberries, ripe under the sun. He dreamed of smelling sweet tea and squash stew, of grilled sweet potatoes, of copper pieces tingling in his ears. He dreamed of the sound of rain, of the wind roaring across the grasslands, of bony arms with rotten fingers reaching out to him, embracing him like no one else had ever done.

In his sleep, he hadn’t noticed that the zombie had woken up, scooted over to his side and slowly embraced him, somehow hoping to get its host to stop wiggling about. It soon fell asleep again, however, and the two remained together for the rest of the night.

It was.

Part 9

And there was only one bed. 🤭

[uniqueinterior3]

Redefining Comfort: How to Blend Style with Relaxation in Every Room

Comfort is more than just plush cushions and cozy throws. It's about creating an atmosphere where you can relax, unwind, and truly feel at home, all while maintaining a sense of style and elegance. In today’s world, design isn’t just about making a space look good; it's about creating a sanctuary that nurtures both your body and mind. The key to achieving this balance is blending relaxation with style—bringing together functionality, personal taste, and design elements that evoke both calm and beauty.

Here’s how you can redefine comfort by infusing every room in your home with style and relaxation, so you can enjoy a space that’s both aesthetically pleasing and incredibly comfortable.

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1. Start with a Soft Foundation: Comfortable Furniture

The furniture in a room is where comfort begins, and when selecting pieces, comfort should be your first priority. A stylish space doesn’t have to sacrifice relaxation, and vice versa. Start with the largest items—the sofa, bed, or dining chairs—and make sure they offer both style and comfort. Look for seating that invites you to relax, such as deep sofas with soft, supportive cushions or beds with plush, luxurious linens.

To elevate both comfort and style, consider combining different textures. A velvet couch in a rich color might feel indulgent to sit in, while soft leather armchairs add both elegance and durability to a living room. For bedrooms, invest in a good mattress and soft bedding, but also pay attention to the aesthetic details, such as a stylish headboard, textured throws, or decorative pillows that bring an added layer of design.

Pro Tip: Choose furniture that offers flexibility—like a sectional sofa or adjustable bed frames—so you can switch up how the space feels as your needs change.

2. Layer Textures for Sensory Comfort

Layering textures in a room is an effective way to combine tactile comfort with visual appeal. Soft fabrics like cotton, linen, and velvet provide physical comfort, while contrasting textures—like a sleek metal coffee table, rough-hewn wood shelves, or a wool rug—add dimension and interest to the space.

For example, in a living room, you could pair a plush, velvet sofa with a woven jute rug, leather chairs, and soft knit throws. The contrast between soft, cozy textiles and natural, raw materials creates a tactile experience that is both comfortable and visually dynamic.

In the bedroom, think about mixing different fabrics for a sense of luxury—silk or satin sheets paired with a chunky knit throw or a textured duvet cover can bring a cozy yet chic feel to your bed.

Pro Tip: Use different textures to create a sensory experience. A soft, thick rug beneath your feet, a velvet throw over the back of a chair, and woolen pillows on your couch will offer comfort at every touchpoint.

3. Balance Light and Ambience: The Power of Lighting

Lighting can make or break the mood of a room, and it plays a critical role in creating an environment that feels both stylish and comfortable. Natural light is the first step toward creating an airy, welcoming space. Maximizing natural light through well-placed curtains, sheer blinds, or open windows lets daylight flood in, lifting the mood and energizing the room.

For evenings or times when natural light isn't available, layered lighting is key. Use a combination of ambient, task, and accent lighting to create warmth and depth. Ambient light from overhead fixtures or recessed lighting creates general illumination, while task lighting from reading lamps or pendant lights helps direct light where it's needed. Accent lighting—such as floor lamps or sconces—adds drama and highlights design features, like artwork or architectural details.

For an extra touch of relaxation, consider dimmable lighting to adjust the ambiance based on the time of day or activity.

Pro Tip: Try installing smart bulbs that allow you to adjust the color temperature and brightness of the room to suit your needs—whether you’re winding down with a book or entertaining guests.

4. Incorporate Personal Touches

No matter how stylish a space is, if it doesn’t feel personal, it can lack warmth. Infuse your personality into your design by incorporating items that speak to your interests, travels, or memories. Family photos in beautiful frames, art pieces that reflect your style, or treasured souvenirs can all make a room feel like home.

Personal touches also help balance style with relaxation. For example, a collection of books on a coffee table or a vintage piece of furniture passed down through the generations brings a sense of history and comfort. It's these little details that elevate a room from merely stylish to truly comfortable.

Pro Tip: Don’t be afraid to display things that bring you joy—whether it’s an art print you love, a cozy throw that reminds you of home, or a favorite set of ceramic mugs on your kitchen shelves. These personal items add soul to the room.

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5. Use Color to Set the Mood

Color is one of the most powerful tools in creating a comfortable and stylish space. While bold, bright colors can inject energy into a room, calming, neutral tones typically work best for relaxation. Soft blues, grays, earthy greens, and warm neutrals create a serene environment that invites rest.

That said, comfort doesn’t mean boring. You can still incorporate style and personality through color by adding rich accent colors or tones in textiles, artwork, or decor. A neutral sofa can be paired with vibrant pillows, throws, or a brightly colored rug to create balance. Similarly, a soft-colored wall can serve as a neutral backdrop to showcase bold furniture and decor pieces.

Pro Tip: When in doubt, choose warm tones and muted shades for walls and large furniture pieces, then add pops of color through accessories like cushions, vases, or artwork to keep things fresh and inviting.

6. Create Zones for Relaxation

In an open-plan home, it’s important to create distinct zones for relaxation and activity. Even in smaller rooms, defining different areas with furniture and decor can help cultivate a space that supports both comfort and style.

For example, in a living room, you can create a cozy reading nook by placing a comfy armchair next to a bookshelf and a soft floor lamp. In the bedroom, a chaise lounge by the window can become your spot for relaxation and reflection. These “zones” not only increase the function of a room but also help structure the space in a way that feels natural and welcoming.

Pro Tip: Use rugs, furniture arrangement, and lighting to define different zones within the same room. A cozy nook with soft cushions can make all the difference in creating a multifunctional yet comfortable space.

7. Emphasize Comfort Through Furniture Scale

Another way to blend relaxation with style is by being mindful of the scale and layout of your furniture. Large, bulky pieces can feel oppressive in a smaller room, while too-small furniture in a large room can seem out of place and uncomfortable. The right scale can transform how the room feels and how comfortable it is to use.

In living rooms, for example, consider furniture that fits the room’s proportions. A sectional that’s large enough for lounging but not overpowering for a small space, or a sleek, minimalist coffee table that offers practicality without crowding the room, can elevate both comfort and style.

Pro Tip: When arranging furniture, leave enough space between pieces for easy movement. In a small room, opt for furniture that’s low-profile to give the space a sense of openness.

8. Focus on Quiet Elegance: Simple, Clean Lines

While comfort is the goal, a stylish space doesn’t have to be cluttered or overly ornate. Focus on clean, elegant lines, which promote both visual and physical comfort. A minimalist approach to furniture and decor can keep things feeling serene and peaceful, while still offering ample comfort. Think simple, well-designed furniture with clean lines and subtle details, rather than heavy, overly intricate pieces.

Pro Tip: Choose furniture and decor that have a timeless appeal—sleek chairs, minimalist side tables, and functional yet beautiful accessories will keep the room feeling fresh for years to come.

Conclusion

Blending comfort with style is about creating a space that feels inviting and relaxing without compromising on aesthetic appeal. By choosing comfortable furniture, layering textures, balancing light, and adding personal touches, you can transform any room into a sanctuary of both relaxation and design. Comfort and style are not mutually exclusive; with the right approach, you can have both in your home—creating a space that looks beautiful and feels like a true retreat.

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[petrikaira]

The Maid

Maid's Quarters (Previous)

Rating: G for General Audiences

In which, Nele considers her future

Nele had been given her own room. It was small, with a single small bed with a thin, hand sewn mattress and a rounded hand sewn pillow. Against the far wall was a small wardrobe, complete with her very own candle in a carrying case. The bathroom, she had been told, was down the hall. As she sat down on her bed and felt the thin mattress beneath her, she took a breath. It was a far cry from the old mattress she had in her room that sagged in the middle, in both thickness and sagging.

 Her fingers moved across the plain white sheets the bed had been outfitted with. Smooth, cool. She wasn’t sure how warm they would be. Nele supposed the first real purchase she would be making with her money was bedding. A thrill sang through her heart at that. Her own bedding! Chosen by herself!

Back home, it had never really been a problem or an option. There were the woolen blankets they had traded eggs with the fisherman for at the wharf that had come in gray, and over that was her old quilt made by her grandma from their old underclothes and outer sleeves. Mostly, it was cream with splashes of browns. It was worn. Practical.

And ultimately something Nele had had no choice in.

Now, once she got her first pay, she supposed she would get a chance to go into the town in the evening. Her first month’s schedule had her with plenty of free time to “Acclimate to the job and get any essentials you might be missing” as Zillah had said. She hoped tonight wouldn’t be too cold.

For now was the problem of her name. Nele was cute. It just…didn’t feel right. She knew she was going to have to choose something to tell the next person, something maybe that could stick. If she did the “My name is this” “Oh actually, can you call me that?” too many times, she was certain she would not only annoy everyone, but end up being called by a name she hated. 

At least, she decided, she didn’t hate Nele. It just didn’t feel right. It was unfamiliar. Her old name hadn’t really felt right, either, but it was familiar since she had heard it as hers before she had memory.

Her old name.

Nele knew, legally, she had given it up. But maybe she could try out an approximation of it, if even for calling herself in her head while she searched for the real deal?

Her old name.

She sat, quiet, willing it to come to her. She had only been without it for a day. This was ridiculous. Her old name was- something, wasn’t it? Nele’s brow furrowed. No matter how hard she tried, it didn’t come. She was something Fairbanks. Something with a-

No. She couldn’t even remember the letter it had started with. 

Nele blinked, biting at the inside of her cheek. Maid. Maid. Maid. 

What had come before it?

She swallowed. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten. She turned it over in her head, her brows synching so hard together she was beginning to feel a headache coming on herself, or the idea of one. Yet, her name (And the headache) wouldn’t come.

Nele sighed. It seemed she really had given it up, never to be remembered again. She wondered if she heard it again if she would remember. There were no approximations to give. Her chest felt a little tight, at that, and she couldn’t help but think of Agni. Died, and conjured back to life as something that was no longer alive.

She was no longer who she was. 

And she needed a name. One people could call her. One she would like.

One that wasn’t Maid. Maid Fairbanks was surely something- but she wanted something different.

I want to like myself. I want to like my new name, and the new person I will become. 

The ache in her chest only worsened. She would have to be careful. She needed a good one. It felt like being shattered into pieces while being whole, like the wait of a thousand feet bearing down on her and cracking her into slivered shards. She felt…

Lost.

To find who she was anew was something filled with more anxiety than she had imagined. She felt like it would be a long journey to be found again.

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[falling-pages]

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

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Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

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Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

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Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull. 

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed. 

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him. 

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be. 

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain. 

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant. 

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained. 

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you. 

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that? 

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled. 

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece. 

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned. 

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead. 

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door. 

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart. 

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me. 

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well. 

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.” 

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest. 

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

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[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Secrets of Midnight: Babes in the Woods

In which our love interests meet for the first time and their fates become irrevocably entangled...

---

Geralt smelled him and heard him long before the clumsy, foppish boy came into view. He was trembling in the chill of early autumn and his eyes were as panic-stricken and tearful as a lost fawn’s. The cursed Count softened for an instant but only for an instant. Only until he smelled the boy on the wind, strongly this time, and he recognized the de Lettenhove blood pumping underneath his pale skin. 

The boy, for he was barely a man if he was still attending the nearby university, was limping; he favored his non-dominant foot strongly and he hissed through his teeth whenever his foot snagged on a root or fallen branch. 

You could use this, some small part of his mind suggested. It was a dark thought, something truly evil in a way that Geralt had never considered being evil before, and the ex-Count grimaced. You could pay that sorry Redanian traitor back for his treatment of you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime; you could ruin the Viscount’s son, ruin his family’s reputation, and still be none the worse off for your efforts. What does it matter, Geralt? You’re already banished from court.

So, with the Angel on his shoulder mysteriously absent and his conscience sufficiently tamped down into silence, Geralt stepped into view of the young man. 

“Who goes there?” the ex-Count asked, glaring down his nose at the wounded student. 

“J-Julian, Milord,” the boy answered. His eyes were the brightest shade of blue Geralt had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat in his chest and he lost his breath for a single, heart-rending second; the Count had never been so caught up in the glory of one solitary color before. Is this what God had felt like when he held his finished work in his hands for the first time? Had he been as lost to Julian as Geralt currently was? The boy cocked his head to the side and his blue fawn-eyes pierced the Count in a new and terrifying way. 

“What brings you here?” he managed to ask.

“My friends have - ah!” he’d tried to gesture in the direction of his friends but he’d lost his balance and his weight had shifted atop his ankle again. He hissed through his teeth and dropped to a crouch, stabilizing the limb with both hands while he breathed through the pain. 

So Julian had experienced pain before and he’d learned to cope with it. Curious.

“Let’s get you laid down,” Geralt suggested, “And then you can tell me how you came to be lost on the lands of my estate.”

Geralt carried the young man all the way back to his crumbling manor house and marveled at how light Julian felt in his arms. Was he really so slight or was it another side effect of his monstrous curse? The enhanced senses he had adjusted to already, but improved strength? That was decidedly new. When the odd pair finally reached the house and pushed their way through the front door, Geralt made his guest comfortable. He laid Julian down on a chaise lounge before the sitting room fire and placed a bolster cushion beneath his injured ankle. “May I feel you for a sprain, Julian?”

“Are you a doctor?” the smiling boy inquired, reclining back to rest his head against the gold silk pillows. Sitting there in front of the fire, the apples of his cheeks glowing pink from exertion and nervous excitement, his brown hair mussed and shining in the low light, his sparkling blue eyes boring into Geralt’s...the boy might have truly been a portrait of Cupid brought to life. “Can you diagnose what ails me?”

Geralt eased into a more romantic mode of conversation, grateful for the easy opportunity to flirt; he hadn’t been well-known for his way with women at court. He prodded and poked and felt across the bones and tendons of Julian’s ankle, recognizing a sprain when he felt one. It was an easy fix, just bed rest and elevation for a few days until the muscles healed up.  “You’ve sprained your ankle, Julian. I wouldn’t suggest taking a walk in the woods at twilight anytime soon.”

The young man startled and his eyelashes fluttered sweetly. “But Milord, I must return to my dorm! My friends will wonder what’s become of me.”

“Where were your friends when I came upon you?” the Count questioned, laying a thick woolen blanket across Julian’s lap. The boy blushed brightly yet again and Geralt marked it as another success. 

“They spun me around a few times and all ran off in different directions. I was dizzy, of course, and I tried to follow Paul, but he was long gone by then. When Stephan called for me I went to follow his voice and tripped, twisting my ankle terribly. After that there was no keeping up; the sun was starting to set and I was beginning to grow worried for my safety when you rescued me. Thank you, by the way. You have a lovely home.”

“No need to lie to me, little fawn,” Geralt chuckled darkly. He stood from his place beside the settee and paced before the fire, gesturing around as he spoke. “I know exactly how rundown this place looks, Julian, I was a great Count once. The curtains here are moldy, the tapestries are moth-eaten and holey, and the mattresses have rotten all to Hell. This is the only hearth in the manor that I’ve gotten fully cleaned so far; I apologize for the mess. I was moved here rather suddenly, you see, and haven’t had the time to fix everything up yet.”

“Moved? As in, you did not choose to move but were translocated nonetheless?”

“To be blunt, little fawn, I was banished,” the Count drawled. He shot a quick glare in Julian’s direction and the young man withered beneath it. What had he done to anger his host in such a way? Was he safe here any longer? Should he try to run? If he did run, would he make it any farther than the doorway? The edge of the dirty elf-made carpet? Then the glare dropped away for a split second, revealing a flash of genuine pain and confusion, “Someone else at court wanted my job. They cursed me and hid me away from the world in order to take my place. They coveted power so much that they threw my entire life away without a second thought.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Julian cried, holding his arms out towards his host. The confused Count stopped his pacing and turned to face the teary-eyed young noble. “Come here, Your Grace, and let me give you a hug.”

“That...wouldn’t be appropriate,” Geralt frowned. Julian deflated and let his arms drop back to his sides. His hands moved to fidget in his lap and he flushed yet again, embarrassed. 

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

The older man steeled himself for what he had to do. Julian seemed like a nice boy, a perfectly pleasant nobleman all things considered, but this wasn’t just about Julian. This was about a corrupt family with incredible and unchecked power, running around at court and pulling the King’s strings, uncaring of the consequences beyond their own fortunes. Geralt had to teach them a lesson.

He slid back to a kneeling position beside the couch and took one of Julian’s busy hands into his own. He brushed his lips against the back of the young man’s knuckles and whispered softly, the way blue-blooded men had been speaking to empty-headed young women for hundreds of years, letting the skin of his lips tickle against the back of Julian’s hand with every syllable, “Take your rest here for the night, little fawn. I wouldn’t dream of letting any further harm come to you.”

And the boy did exactly as Geralt had intended: he fainted dead away.

[edupunkn00b]

A Study in Green and Yellow, Dukeceit Week Day 2

Dukeceit Week 2021 Day 2 Prompt: Green/Yellow

[ AO3 ] - Word Count: 881 - CW: none (wut? Edu can write like that?)

I knocked on his door and pressed my ear against the polished yellow wood. I started counting, voicelessly mouthing the words. I closed my eyes, listening, enjoying the little wet popping sounds on the ‘t’s, ‘f’s and ‘x’s. One two three four five six … I gave up at 300. There wasn’t a peep from his room. I stood back, staring at the door. I’d left behind smudges from my hand and the side of my face on the otherwise pristine surface. I wiped them away with the edge of my sleeve, then slowly tried the doorknob. It turned, and I edged the door open.

It opened smoothly, with not even the hint of a squeak from the hinges. “Oh, Jannie? Anybody home?” I called out into the warm, dimly lit room. The bed was made, a soft yellow comforter perfectly positioned on the four-poster bed. An additional thick woolen blanket was neatly folded over the foot of it, and I could see the control and power cord for a heated blanket partially tucked under the pillows. The door to the adjoining bathroom was opened, but the light was off.

The room appeared to be unoccupied. Well, at least it was before I came in. Ha.

Poking my head back into the noticeably colder hallway, I snatched up the buckets of paint I’d left just outside his door, then eased the door shut, waiting until the door was flush against the frame before slowly releasing the doorknob, letting the latch quietly slide into place without even a click.

The inside of the door was polished as well, and my fingerprints dulled the surface of the doorknob and the edges of the wood. I rubbed them out with my sleeve until the wood shone again.

Time to pick a wall.

The wall behind the bed was partially blocked by a big lemon yellow canopy. Crawling up on the bed to get a closer look at the space, my hands and knees sunk into the soft surface. I scrambled off and watched as the blanket and mattress slowly rose back to their original height. I pushed my hand down on the center of the bed, then lifted it up, watching the woosh of the soft material reshaping.

I checked the wall opposite the bed, but it was nearly completely covered by the door to the bathroom, a television and three large framed photographs of—I tilted my head sideways and stepped closer to get a better look.

The first photograph was large, spanning the level of his desktop all the way up to the ceiling. The frame was completely transparent. I tapped the edges and the center of the frame, each tap making a high-pitched click. I pressed my hand against the surface. It was cold. A solid glass frame. Again, I polished away the smudges I left behind with my sleeve. The picture inside was a massive closeup of some sort of undersea creature. At first, the picture looked fuzzy and out of focus, but soon I could make out the details of tiny particles floating in the water. There was some fleshy thing in the center of the frame, all mottled greens and browns and muted black.

The center picture was much smaller, but was protected by the same style of frame. It appeared to be a photograph of a forest floor. Brown and yellow leaf litter covered bits of tree roots, and sunlight seemed to dapple through the trees. As I looked closer though, down in the lower right corner of the picture, there was a tiny yellow snake hiding among the dead leaves.

The last picture was just as large as the first and was the most recognizable. There were swirling splashes of color, blues and golds and greens, all spread out across a black background filled with stars. Some of the stars were brighter than the others and when I looked closely, I could see that the brightest spots were actually multiple stars clumped together. I took a few steps back and slowly edged closer to the picture, catching the moment that my eyes could discern one big bright blob was composed of two or three or more tiny pinpricks of light.

I sighed. Two walls were out.

The surface of the other wall was taken up by a floor to ceiling window, currently covered by thick yellow blackout curtains. The fourth wall was broken by the door, centered between two ten-foot high bookcases that covered the remaining wall space. Frustrated, I sank to the thickly-carpeted floor and stared up at the ceiling.

I stared at the beautiful, pristine, completely canvas-blank ceiling.

I leapt to my feet, snapping a large canvas drop cloth onto the floor. I snapped again for a ladder and a few paint brushes. I slid one arm through each of the thin metal handles on the green and yellow paint cans, then I clambered up the rickety aluminum ladder. Perched at the top, I swung one leg onto the other side, straddling the top, prying open and then hooking the paint cans on the little rubber-tipped protrusions on either side. I pulled out the largest brush with a flourish, running my fingers over the silky edges of the bristled end.

I had work to do. ---

taglist: @demon9980 @the-dead-and-the-decaying @psychedelicships @dukeceitweek

[offaeandcreation]

Sleep-Deprived College Student Becomes World's Strongest Cultivator By Bullshit Means

Summary:The last thing WanLi An (Ani) expected was to a) die in the most pathetic and ridiculous manner, b) wake up in the body of a villain destined to be beheaded in a war of their own making. Of course with Ani's luck, that's exactly what happened. Now Ani finds herself the ruthless, morally-questionable at best, leader of Qishan Wen, rearing two bratty children, while pretending that yes, she is absolutely Wen Ruohan. Nothing to see here! Everything is just fine. Except the universe isn't done making her life hell. "For fuck's sake, I just wanted my degree!"

Chapter 1: Holy Fucking Shit

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11+ 

Content Warnings: Death, Mourning, Dirty Jokes

AO3

On my gravestone, I want the following epithet: Murdered by heels via the eighth floor window. Gravity was a co-conspirator. 

There she flew, like an outtake of 'It's a Wonderful Life', skirt flapping in the wind harder than a can-can dancer's. Ani, known to her angry mother as WanLi An, was NOT about to become the world's next human pudding if she had any say about it. She reached for the psychology department’s brick edges, anything to stop the fall that ended in concrete. 

Supergirl, now’s your chance! Fulfill my lesbian dream!  

As she waited for the inevitable hero to come swooping in, a familiar object flew past her like from the Rabbit Hole scene in ‘Alice in Wonderland’: the softcover book she’d been reading, glossy title flashing its Chinese characters, ‘Mo Dao Zu Shi’.  

Oh ya, I could learn to fly on a sword!

She made a grab at it but missed, watching the wind sweep it away. Another possession flew into Ani’s line of sight: a pink tote bag with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it – for A-Li. His meringues packed inside, made just for him to stuff his face with with the intention of proving that yes, he can fit five in his mouth now, all came flying out. The wind clearly wanted to take them for itself. 

Those are for A-Li you air-bag! 

Waving her arms around, she tried to reach for the helicoptering meringues with much gusto and much failure.The whistle in her ear might as well have been snickering.  

A photograph slipped into Ani’s line of sight taken back in China of her entire family: her parents, grandmother, A-Li, days before her father died. 

The wind stole the air out of her lungs. Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could while having no anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small.  She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter. 

No! No don’t do this! 

Ani screamed at the wind that tore at her, at the grey sky that looked at her with no mercy. 

I’m going to die. I can’t die- Grandmother, I can’t! Not now. I have to take care of A-Li–

A single tear kissed her cheek before floating in the air, too light to fall, before she plunged into the concrete. 

Xxxxxxxxxx

Ani’s eyes shot open, a gasp escaping her lips. Her heart pounded into the pillows she was lying face-first in, breathing as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare. 

She was in bed. At home. Safe. Her muscles relaxed, sinking into the mattress beneath-

Something hard resisted against her body, as if the mattress was more akin to a wooden board then memory foam. She blinked, allowing her hands to wander the bed, pressing and feeling against silky bedding. 

This isn’t my bed- 

Wait.

She shouldn’t even be in bed.

 Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could without an anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small.  She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter. 

She should have died.

I fell. 

I fell eight stories. 

I fell eight stories onto concrete.  

Ani sat up, finally looking where she was lying. She was in a large bed with a thick, silky, maroon blanket – something that her grandmother would have owned.  

What the fuck?

Ani looked up. Wooden beams criss-crossed above her, holding up a low ceiling made of an unknown dark wood. 

Why was there a ceiling? Wasn’t I just seconds ago falling out of a building into the concrete, outside? Where no ceilings could exist? 

Ani crawled towards the edge of the bed to take a good look. 

It wasn’t a ceiling, but a wooden canopy, with ostentatious diamond and floral engravings, accompanied by transparent red and black valance.  

Where am I?

Ani finally looked up from the bed. Her eyes bulged. Three college classrooms couldn’t have fit within this single bedroom. 

 Beyond the bed, a built-in nightstand had been covered in glass bottles, some small as pennies and others like glass blown art, and torn white sheets . 

 Bandages perhaps? I’m supposed to be in a hospital…? This doesn’t look like a hospital bed.

Beyond, silky red and woolen carpets decorated the dark floors.  Across the room, a large table sat perpendicular to the wall covered in stacks of scrolls.

Some regular-old New York City hospital most definitely wouldn’t have this – a waste of space and money. 

Ani blinked. Where was the IV drip? The heart monitor? White curtains? The sink? The putrid smell of alcohol and plastic? Flowers? She definitely deserved flowers. Especially after everything. 

What sorry excuse of a hospital is this?! An alt-medicine hospital?Did they give me acid? Was the whole accidentally-falling-out-of-a-building-from-the-top-floor-because-why-not sequence a dream? 

Ani rubbed her eyes to make absolutely certain she wasn’t indeed hallucinating. Except, her hand felt strange, as if someone attached weights to them without asking her permission. Ani pulled at them with more force, until she smacked herself in the face. She hissed in pain, glaring at her stupid hand-

What. The. Fuck.

This wanna-be-Micky-mouse-glove abomination was abso-fucking-lutely not her hand. She brought it close, staring at the long pale fingers, razor sharp nails –absolutely a lesbian hazard – and delicate wrist. It was at least twice the size of her face, and felt…foreign. Flexible, catching more air. Ani was pretty sure she could make shoes out of these hands and comfortably walk in them and with room.

She brought up her other hand in comparison. To her utter horror, they matched!

Ani closed her eyes, hoping that somehow to conjure up her smaller, tanner, lesbian-friendly hands. She opened one eye, her kernel of hope popping 

Nope. 

Either Ani was tripping very hard on acid to the point that her brain forgot the importance of clipped nails, or she’d fallen eight floors and needed a transplant and the only thing available were these man-hands. 

Cold pooled in Ani’s gut. Ani tossed off the blankets, scrambling to her feet. She ran towards the golden mirror attached to a nearby vanity. Despite skidding to a stop, her torso continued its trajectory until she face-planted into the floor. 

“Fuck,” she bit out. 

The sound that came out of her mouth was not the familiar timbre of her voice. She coughed and spoke again. 

“Hello.” 

It sounded so wrong. Ani spoke a few more words– “Hewwo,” “Nya-Nya,” “Nico Nico Nii,” “Motherfucker,”– before taking a deeper breath. No matter what sounds she made, the voice remained low like a choral bass singer. As low as her father’s had been. Tears welled in Ani’s eyes as she slowly tried to get to her feet, head spinning.

What’s happening? Why are my hands weird? Why is my voice weird! 

 Even her feet were weird: pale and big like her hands. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, trickling down her back into the collar of white robes that fell to her calves. She never could afford something like this.

 Nor did hospitals supply silk robes. 

 She brushed the robes aside as she got to her knees, her jaw throbbing, and faced the golden mirror. 

The face that stared back at her wasn’t her own. 

It was a face of man, with bright, unnatural scarlet eyes. 

The mirror broke. 

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ani flinched at the violent crack. She looked behind her, searching for whatever had broken the mirror. Outside of the table and a sliding-door that led to who-knows-where, there was nothing that could have caused the damage. 

She closed her eyes, counting to ten. Reopened them. She closed her eyes, counting to twenty. Reopened them. The same unknown male face stared back at her: long oval face, messy bed-head black hair, and vivid crimson eyes, tinted slightly by the color of the mirror. Not the round face, short dark hair and eyes that she has seen in the mirror every day for twenty-three years. Not the face she preferred. 

Red eyes? Seriously? Red? Hardly realistic. 

Not even albino irises were this intense. She backed away from the mirror, coming into the body’s full height. At least twice her height - which explains the sheer size of her hands and feet. 

At least I’ll be able to reach the top shelves without being laughed at. 

The thought quickly scurried away the longer she looked at herself. The mirror mimicked every move she made. The cracks distorted her figure– no, the man’s figure. 

What’s happening? What’s going on? Why am I in this body? Is this a hallucination? 

Ani mentally ran through all her psychology courses until she had an idea. 

Wait, there is still one more test. People who suffer from delusions often attempt to use other senses to figure out if they truly are seeing what is in front of them. So if this is all a delusion- 

Shutting her eyes, Ani stuck her hand between her legs-

Yup. That was most definitely not there before. I’m in a man’s body. Confirmed. 

She groaned, sinking to the floor in defeat, resting her head on the table. Leaning her head back, she noticed the scrolls wrapped in beige ribbons.  

Perhaps these documents will tell me what the hell is going on. 

She pulled at the ribbons, looking for something, anything that could give her answers. She scanned the unfurled parchment, noticing a collection of vertical lines, occasionally underlined once or twice that made no sense to her. Dates? 

She could understand the Chinese characters, except the style was clearly more archaic, with words that would never be used in any book that would be found at home. Except the older poetry books, because poets like to be pretentious know-it-alls. 

Ani looked for writing utensils, except instead of finding pencils and pens that every self-respecting person would have, she found only bamboo brushes. 

‘Want to learn?’ a memory itched at the back of her mind, floating to the surface. 

Her grandmother had returned from Beijing, eyes crinkling with a smile that her bright blue face mask hid. Ten-year old Ani cried out in happiness, rushing towards the open door in only her purple floral pajamas. Her father grabbed her before she could topple her grandmother with an unexpected bear hug. 

‘Ani, Ani, look what I brought you,’ she said with a familiar grin the moment she pulled down her mask under her aging chin.

From a plastic bag, she removed several shiny brushes, the bamboo wood birch-yellow, polished to a shine, and the bristles a variety of browns and white, pointy like a pencil.  

Her grandmother handed them to her, ‘Now Ani, these are the brushes of our ancestors, they used to work with these so long ago to make beautiful calligraphy. Want to learn?’ 

With careful fingers, Ani lifted one of the brushes, running her finger over the bristles and the smooth handle. These weren’t the brushes her grandmother gave her – the handles weren’t as dark nor as smooth as the wood lacked the sheen polish that modern brushes had, and the bristles were more frayed – not supported by synthetic material. These weren’t her grandmother’s brushes but- 

“Am I…in the past?” 

She scanned the space around her, searching for any sign of modern technology. A fireplace, a wardrobe that most probably cost at least a quarter of her tuition, mats that most definitely were made of organic material, not the synthetic fibers of the modern age. There wasn’t a single modern artifact in the room.

“I’m in the PAST?” Ani cried out, tearing at her hair, “How did THIS happen?” 

Her heart beat pounded in her ears. How? How? How? How! 

“Sect Leader Wen!” 

Ani yelped, grabbing  a bronze candle holder as the door slid open. She backed up into the mirror, glad it hadn’t shattered earlier. Assuming whatever entered the room wasn't trying to kill her, the last thing she needed was to pay for broken property just because she stared too hard at the mirror. 

A man with dull robes walked in on his knees. Their eyes met and he fell into a bow, face first into the hard wooden floors. 

“We are pleased to see you awake Sect Leader!” 

Yes, I’m sure you are. 

 “Physician Wen is being notified now,” he continued. “Is there anything that we can do for you in the meanwhile, Sect Leader Wen?” 

Luckily, the servant was too busy digging his nose into the floor and quivering like a vibrator to notice the way her mouth dropped along with the candle. 

Sect Leader…Wen? 

The name was familiar. Too familiar. She looked past the servant, above the door to the banner that decorated the walls. 

The sun symbol. 

A stone dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t just traveled into the past. She’d transmigrated into the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi. 

As Sect Leader Wen Ruohan. 

Who was destined to die. 

[themysteriousphoenix]

Exploring

I saw THIS GIF and this just came to me. I knocked it out in one sitting. It's sweet with a side of spicy. I hope you enjoy it! (rated T)

The sun illuminated the room with a light orange glow, the hazy light filtered by the cream-colored lace that hung in the window. It was very early, too early to be awake yet, but Tina had always been an early riser and the time change had messed with her internal clock. After six months in Romania helping Newt establish a dragon reserve, they had returned last week for their wedding in London.

Tina smiled to herself. With the dawning of a new day came one week of wedded bliss, and blissful it most certainly had been. She didn’t think she had ever been this happy. She had found someone who understood her, cared for her, and loved every little imperfection and quirk as much as her best features. She felt beautiful and respected, it was more than she had ever hoped for in a partner. He loved her well and she loved him back just as much.

Newt was everything she hadn’t known she needed. He had given her a future she never thought she would have and Tina was sure she was the luckiest woman in the world. It still caught her off guard sometimes, she thought as her eyes misted over with emotion, that she got to love and be loved this deeply. They had found each other randomly, being from different parts of the Earth it had been nothing short of fate that had brought them together that chilly December afternoon. It was still amazing to her, even nearly two years later.

Tina’s right arm erupted in goose flesh and she pulled the woolen blanket more tightly around her. They must have fallen asleep rather quickly last night. She was wearing nothing beneath the blankets. She grinned as memories of the night before flashed across her mind. It had been a week of discovery, she thought, and she was glad that any hesitancy they had at first had finally melted away to reveal that they were as well suited for each other here in the bedroom as they were in the other areas of their lives.

How could she have found him? Someone who fits her so perfectly?

Newt was lying on his side, facing away from her. His arm was tucked under the pillow and his face was pushed into the plush surface, his usual sleeping position. It was something that she had noticed about him their first time sleeping in the same bed and found rather adorable. The expanse of his back was revealed to her and his silvery scars and the ragged burns that he had acquired over the years seemed to be highlighted in the early morning light. His shoulders were naturally sculpted after years of manual labor and, though his clothing choices made his build seem slight, he was strong and powerful underneath. It was wholly masculine. He could make her feel surrounded in the best ways, something she had never expected from him at the beginning of their romantic relationship.

Tina watched his back rise and fall for a moment, his deep, sleepy breaths were the only sounds in the otherwise silent room. The sunlight from the window was highlighting the reddish tint in his hair. Newt’s hair color had defied explanation since the moment she had met him. It was brown, blonde, and red all at the same time. It had fascinated her through their early courtship, and she had secretly longed to touch it throughout their months of friendship after returning to London from Paris together. When he finally took a chance and kissed her, her first instinct had been to run her fingers through his curls. His hair was softer than it looked, though he tended to keep it in a mass of stubborn tangles that defied any attempt at combing. It was shorter than usual at the moment. He had it professionally cut for the first time in years in the days leading up to the wedding. He looked less boyish this way and she could see his eyes more clearly. He never hid them from her anymore, but with his fringe out of the way she was free to look with an unobstructed view. He looked different than he usually did, and Tina knew he would grow it out again, but she secretly loved the haircut.

She found that her hand was tracing a long scar that stretched across his shoulder blade. The soft touch hadn’t roused him from sleep, thankfully, though she wouldn’t mind if he woke up long enough to pull her into his arms for a while before they had to get up for the day. She continued her explorations of his skin before she lifted her hands to run her fingertips over the hair on the back of his head lightly. She dragged her fingertips down and across the back of his neck to his upper back before she ran a palm down his spine. She was still discovering things, learning his body in this way. Every freckle and scar, every spot that gave him pleasure or made him laugh because he was ticklish, it was all new and exciting to find.

Newt breathed in deeply and turned his face further into the pillow. Tina lifted her hand and stroked her fingers lightly over his hair and neck again as she felt him wake beside her. With a sleepy grunt, Newt slowly rolled onto his stomach and turned to face her, his head still resting on the pillow.

“Hi.”

Tina continued the soft exploration of his skin as she ran her fingertips down his upper arm toward his elbow. Newt smiled as she neared the ticklish spot on the inside of his forearm and adjusted his hand to meet her own. Their fingers intertwined and rested on the blanket between them.

“Good morning.” Newt stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. His voice was thick with sleep and his eyes were soft as they watched her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Tina smiled at him, the hazy sunlight behind him made him look slightly ethereal.

“The time difference is getting to me. I woke up with the sun.” She squeezed his hand lightly, her voice low and soft, “I’m just exploring you. I’m still amazed I get to touch you like this. It’s nice.”

“Well, I’m sorry I woke up and stopped you,” Newt replied with a sleepy grin. His eyes briefly looked at the clock on the table behind Tina. “Do you want to try and sleep a bit more? It’s only 5:30. I have at least another hour before my creatures start demanding my attention.”

Tina nodded, the movement sending a wayward lock of dark hair to fall across her face. Newt released her hand and lifted it languidly to her face, lifting the offending lock and tucking it behind her ear. He ran his fingers across her cheek and then down her arm softly.

“C’ mere,” he whispered, applying a light pressure to the back of her arm. Tina scooted across the mattress, closing the small gap between them. She laid facing him and his arm snaked beneath her, allowing her to lay her head on his shoulder. She was wrapped in his warmth, surrounded, and she snuggled in close, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his. She loved this feeling, the intimacy they shared in moments like this where it wasn’t just about the sex, though she loved those moments as well, rather it was just them. They were bared to each other in every way and finding comfort and calm. It was a kind of joy she had not expected.

Tina felt Newt kiss her forehead and she knew without looking at him that his eyes had closed. He breathed deeply as he dragged his fingertips down the middle of her back beneath the blanket. After several moments of this movement, Tina closed her eyes. It was relaxing, feeling his hands on her skin.

“I thought you were going to go back to sleep,” she whispered into his chest. Newt’s arm tightened around her for a moment before releasing and continuing his movements.

“I’m exploring you,” he whispered back. Tina smiled and relaxed into her husband’s embrace. It felt safe and warm. It felt like home.

-----

*I found this a couple of months after writing this story! https://relationshipaims.tumblr.com/post/626944840113029120

[tarithenurse]

Orphan 10

Starring:  Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader and MCU characters! Contents: Spoilers for Endgame!! Fluff. Yeah, you read that right. Of course, there’s also some pining, worrying, awkwardness, and general feels of all sorts. A/N: So I’m posting this from my new home!! First night here! SoooooooOOOOOOOoooooo*gasp*ooooOOOOOoooo stoked about this, it’s almost ridiculous! Still: previous chapters can be found on the masterlist. Thanks for likes and reblogs and comments <3

10. Protective

After managing the initial formalities and even getting into the car without making a fool of yourself, there’s little left to say. So, Rhodes had left you behind for some work-thing. Why not take Pepper’s offer? I can’t…not yet, though you explain that differently with excuses of any kind. Perhaps Steve realizes the true reason but if so, then he doesn’t push the agenda in an effort to find out which. You are more than grateful, just like you feel a sense of relief that he doesn’t question you about how the visit went.

How did it go? It’s a lot to take in, that’s for sure.

Tony Stark was a man of transitions more than anything. Every time he had faced something new, he’d go in head on and work his way through until he had transformed it, or it had transformed him – into something more, something greater. Flawed, like most other people, it had been easy for him to follow down a path of less than honorable activities. Then he was forced to learn the truth. Afterwards, Tony sought to use all he had to correct the mistakes he had made. Make a difference. Your estranged father had become a hero to the world through his intellect and stubbornness.

Now people who knew him keep saying how alike the two of you are, how many of his features you share. What is anyone supposed to do with information like that? Become someone new like Tony Stark might have done? Or go on, allowing the well-meant comments fall to the ground and shatter as you turn your back?

There are probably more options, but as much as you would like to think it through, analyze the situation, it’s impossible for your brain to follow a train of thought to the end because of the person sitting to your left.

Hyperaware of Steve, your logical and emotional sides are at war, periodically freezing the hordes of butterflies that just will not give up. Each beat of their wings heat your belly and cheeks only for leaden worry to replace it. And guilt.

Consumed with your own turmoil, you do nothing to keep track of the real world until Steve suddenly cuts the engine, proclaiming the destination has been reached. A few stairs up, the lights of the city visible through narrow windows in the stairwell, and on to a front door which the Captain unlocks before offering your to enter first, like the gentleman he apparently is.

Dark hair swings out of the face as Barnes looks up, nailing you to the spot with his icy eyes. “Ohooo, so this’s the emergency y’didn’t want me along for?”

“Bucky.” There’s a hint of a warning barely hidden there.

“Nah, man, it’s okay,” Bucky chuckles, winking jovially, “Wouldn’t wanna be a third wheel anyways.”

Despite the red ears, there’s no warmth left in Steve’s voice now: “James.”

You silently watch a standoff unfold between the blond captain and his friend with the shit-eating grin plastered across his face until, eventually, the cheeky ex-assassin decides to back off to his own room, leaving Steve alone to help you settle for the night.

It’s not a huge place, but from the looks of it it’s perfect for a pair of friends sharing the kitchen, bathroom and living room while having each their own bedroom – at least you did spot a perfectly made bed before Bucky pushed the door shut behind him and somehow you don’t think the two would manage to share a normal sized bed. King size, minimum? Keeping silent, it’s easy to follow Cap through to his room (with a “full”) while he babbles absentmindedly about towels, pillows, and lending out t-shirts for the night.

“– and I’ll keep the light on in the living room so you can find me…I’ll be on the couch…or the or the way to the –“

What he says finally catches your attention. “Wait what?”

“Uhh…light?”

He looks cute when perplexed, you realize and promptly try to ignore. “No the…you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. It’s no big deal, it’s comfy.” A shimmer of the stubbornness from the standoff a moment ago has returned.

I’ll give you stubborn. “Good, then I’ll be perfectly fine there, thank you.”

A snigger warns both of you before the tauntingly sarcastic voice booms through the wall: “And tHeRe wAs o-oNly onE Be-eD!”

 …   Clint   …

“She’s an adult.”

Even with woolen socks, the man still manages to stomp as he paces back and forth.

“She’s not our kid, honey.”

Fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, itching to dial Rhodes number or to fire an arrow…maybe at Rhodes. Good thing he’s not here.

“Her problem solving’s commendable and…” Laura sighs, trying to hide the roll of her eyes behind a hand before stopping her husband with a steely gaze. “Clinton Francis Barton. Y’listenin’ to me? [Y/N] is an adult and in good hands because she made a smart decision and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But –“ He motions wildly to the phone where the messages still can be seen on the screen. “The plan was –“

Laura isn’t just used to dealing with superheroes. She’s a wife and a mother too, and a faithful partner through thick and thin. For years, she’s been preparing for and handling events like this, and Clint is in awe at her calm. Serenity. Looking at her, he realizes for the millionth time through their years together that she is his rock by which he can secure himself and find steady ground.

A few deep breaths then he can seek refuge in her embrace. “You’re right, sweetheart,” he admits, “it’s just hard not to be protective o’ her. What if’t’d been Lila?”

“Then Lila would have known what to do too.” He can feel her smile as Laura kisses his head. “We’ve got smart kids…all three and a half.”

Silence falls between the adults, allowing the crackle of firewood to prevail – it’s one of those sounds Clint cherishes too much to remove the hearing aids for. That and birds singing. And the sound of wind in grass. For too many years none of those sounds had carried any meaning because the most important of them all were missing: the voices of his family. Even now when the kids are sleeping and Laura sits quietly, he can still hear them or at the very least their living echo.

“She’s not gone,” she murmurs gently.

Magical wife. “I know.”

 …   Reader   …

On a scale from zero (none at all) to ten (the worst possible), the level off awkwardness is steady right about an eleven…maybe a nine if you don’t breathe and move which on the other hand would make it a very uncomfortable experience in other ways. Who’d have thought? To be fair, you did but there’s no way you’re changing your mind now.

Even where you are lying in the darkness, you can feel the heat radiating off of Steve who is lying equally rigid, probably with his hands neatly above the blanket he has insisted on using just so you could have the duvet. At least he accepted you slept with a smaller spare pillow, something you had rejoiced for a moment, foolishly thinking his scent wouldn’t be so overpowering…dude, were you wrong. Careful not to move too much, you squirm until you’re on your side.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks softly.

Duh. “Might help if ya sing me a lullaby.”

The mattress shakes with soundless laughter. “Not sure my taste of music’s…y’know…the right kind.”

“What d’you listen to?”

Awkward minutes turn into peaceful hours as the two of you chat about music, books, anything really as time passes until sleep finally overpowers you.

…

Gnnnnooo…something big and warm is moving ever so slowly, trying to free itself from under your arm and head. In your sleep muddled brain, it only matters that the being equals safety for some reason. But despite the half-hearted whine you still end up alone although the covers are tugged nicely around you, eliciting a semi-pleased sigh from your lips.

A few minutes pass where you try to silence an insistent nagging in the back of your head, too tempted by sleep to want to dig out the bugger. There is a clang of a pot or something on the stove, jarring your mind a bit further. Cooking. The little thought bounces up and down in your spongy brain, already prepping the spotlight for the natural associations. Person…cooking…person. Now the nagging is millimeters from turning into realization in all its shiny glory. Person. Steve.

“Ohshitfuckno!”

Sitting up with a jolt, wide-eyed and hair a mess, everything comes crashing back. The visit yesterday before you called the Captain for a ride. Of course the chat as you both lay there in the dark, pretending and eventually believing it wasn’t weird at all.

“Oh…”

All of it meaning that the person gently pushing you away must have been Steve. Captain America. And you had snuggled him in your sleep.

“Please, kill me now,” you breathe, face hidden behind hands and hair.

“So…no eggs for you?” You can hear the shy smile in Steve’s voice just as clearly as the measured footsteps bringing him to the bed where he sits. “It’s alright, doll…you’re safe here.”

Despite the heat spreading all over your face, you still manage to look at him and return the smile. “I know.”

“Good.” For a moment it looks as though he wants to reach out for you, his hand twitching in the lap but never moving further. “I-uhmm…the Barton’s will probably want you back but…but would you want to visit Banner at his lap?”

There’s a distinct sense of disappointment. Not because you don’t want to check out the renowned scientist’s lab, but because…because what?

Pushing away an unformulated theory, you smile gently. “That’d be awesome.”

“Alright.”

And with that he’s leaving to sort the cooking, only pausing to pull a towel out of the cabinet so you can shower.

[schnubbel166]

JJBek Stargazing - Diamonds On Dark Blue Velvet

JJ is having a panic attack and Otabek helps him through it.

JJ wakes up, drenched in sweat, unable to breath properly, shaking. He feels like he is drowning, suffocating, hyperventilating. And the last, he is doing probably. Maybe? The mattress dibs beside him, but he barely registers Otabek. A hand cards through his hair and his first reflex is to flinch back, then he hears Otabek’s voice. Close to his ear. Oh, he is being held.

His head falls against Otabek’s shoulder. “Breath Jean. Come on. Breath with me.” Otabek’s voice is steady, strong. Hands card through his hair, again and again. His chest hurts his sight is blurry. He can’t breathe. “Jean, JJ, please. You have to breath now. In… out… in… out.”

JJ tries to focus on the voice. It feels like there are cold hands pressing against his chest, preventing him from breathing. He feels like he is dying, but he knows, he has to push through this. It’s what he always does. It takes time and strength and concentration. And it’s so hard. 

“That’s it. Just breath.” Otabek says and his voice is getting closer again, doesn’t sound like it is miles and miles away. It makes him fight a little more, push through the ring of panic closing in around him. “You’re doing good. Breath.” By now, it sounds like a chant and perhaps, Otabek is not as calm and collected as he wants to make him believe. He registers the position he is in a few minutes later. Minutes, seconds, hours? JJ has lost the ability to tell.

He is curled up in a fetal position, half resting in Otabek’s lap, half hanging from the bedside. Otabek has him pressed against him and he notices the slight tremor in his motions as he combs through JJ’s hair, strokes his back gentle but firmly. “You’re alright. I’m here.” JJ’s body stops shaking, and his constricted lungs let him breath again. He is slowly but surely calming. Tears leak out from beneath his closed eyelids.

“Pssh.” Otabek murmurs and hugs him a little closer. JJ grabs his hand and Otabek lets him.

Because Otabek deserves an award for being patient, and always there and never annoyed by JJ’s antics, well sometimes, but never seriously, and because Otabek is the best boyfriend he could have ever wished for. No. He could have never predicted, that he would end up with Otabek.

Lips press against his temple and he is being rocked softly. Back and forth and JJ’s coiled tight muscles loosen again. He is relaxing slowly and Otabek keeps rocking him, keeps him close. They stay like that for a long time. They are quiet, aside from JJ’s restrained sniffles. Otabek breaks the silence. “I have an idea.” He says and carefully tests JJ’s ability to sit.

JJ looks at him questioningly and Otabek smiles. “You trust me?” And JJ nods. There is no one he trusts more than Otabek. The latter nods and shuffles a little, before standing up and grabbing two hoodies from their shared closet. One from JJ’s collection. Red and white, with the Canadian flag and with JJ printed in thick letters on the back. The other a simple black one.

Otabek slips into the red and white one and helps JJ slipping into the other. JJ breathes Otabek’s scent in, that clings to the hoodie. “Where are we going?” He croaks out. Another smile wanders over Otabek’s face. Conspiratory. “It’s a surprise.”

For a moment, they reversed roles apparently. Otabek grabs his cell, a woolen blanket and helps JJ all the way down to the car. JJ gets onto the passenger seat. Otabek drapes the blanket over his body and gets in next to him. Turning the key in the ignition and driving off into the night. Cars drive by them and Otabek turns on the radio, quiet music filling the car.

They don’t talk. JJ feels safe. Otabek glances over to him from time to time. He gets them out of the bustling city and keeps driving. Here, the sky is darker. A dark blue, velvety veil above them. Covered in beaming diamonds. JJ is tired. The panic drained him from all his energy, and he can barely hold his head up.

The car comes to a stop on a field. There is nothing around them and Otabek stops the engine, gets out of the car and JJ after that. Smiles at him reassuringly. He guides him away from the car. Not far, just a little and takes the blanket to put it on the ground.

He lies down and pulls JJ with him. JJ looks at him, a tired smile around his lips. “You’re taking me stargazing?” He asks and settles down next to Otabek, head pillowed on Otabek’s chest. Instinctively, Otabek wraps an arm around him and kisses the top of his head, lingers a little and settles back down himself.

“Hm.” JJ smiles again. “I love it.” He says and glances up at Otabek. “I love you. So much.”

Otabek smiles and pulls him into a chaste kiss. A simple brush of lips. Otabek’s fingers trail down his cheek. Calloused fingers, with such a soft touch. JJ closes his eyes, head falling back against Otabek’s chest. “I love you too.”

The world is quiet around them. They look up into the stars, watching shooting stars, content, so close to each other. JJ’s body relaxing more and more against Otabek. Arms wrapped around him protectively, hands linked above his heart. “Thank you.” JJ whispers, before drifting off to sleep.

Otabek sees the curves of JJ’s profile and smiles. It’s relaxed in sleep and his own heart clenches with the thought of how his endlessly kind, passionate and strong boyfriend must have felt like, not long ago. The last months have been stressful and they both still need to accommodate to the fact, that it’s off-season, and that they can breathe through again. JJ takes it especially to heart that he didn’t end up with gold at the Olympics. He is afraid of disappointing his parents, and his fans, his family, Otabek. Even if they all have his back, even if none of them is able to be disappointed in JJ. Ever.

And even now, JJ can’t relax. The children’s hospital, he had been supporting for years, is fighting for its existence and JJ beats himself up for not being able to help more. Otabek strokes JJ’s cheek. It’s stubbly and JJ dead set on growing it out. A smile plays around Otabek’s lips.

His gaze wanders back into the night sky. Another star falls from the it and Otabek closes his eyes and makes a silent wish.

Read on Ao3

[tangyyyy]

Fluffy ELU one shot (a little bit of smut at the end... ;))

As usual, please, be aware that english isn't my first language. I hope there aren't too many mistakes in this story, I did my best at least ! I hope you'll enjoy this little story anyway... Comments are loooved ! Oh and feel free to come and talk to me... :)

Under the sheets

A light rain was falling on the streets of Paris since morning. Lucas, safe in the apartment he still shared with Mika, Lisa and Manon, was enjoying one of those rare days when he was alone at home. Anyone who once lived with roommates  will understand this small but oh-so-precious pleasure. Do what you want, as you want, when you want. The Playstation controller in his hands, he was in the middle of a game when he heard a knock on the door. No doubt it was Eliott, knowing that they could be alone for a day, Lucas had invited him to join him.

« Come in! » Lucas shouted, still quite absorbed in the game. Eliott stayed outside. Why didn't he come in? Lucas knew that by raising even a little his voice, anyone in the lobby of the building, could hear. Frowning, Lucas paused the game, pulled himself out of the blanket he had placed on his laps and walked to the front door.

As he approached, Eliott, on the other side of the door, started to pound on it, yelling at Lucas to hurry up. He seemed eager to come in. Lucas rushed himself. The door was indeed locked. He turned the key in the lock and scarcely had it opened the door that Eliott rushed inside the apartment and closed behind him in a hurry.

« What... what the hell? » The young man asked, anxious.

« Your neighbours out there... They have a girl, She's freaking me out as fuck. »

Lucas had a hard time holding back a mocking laugh.

« Clémence? The little blonde? She scares you?!

-It's her eyes... I don't trust them.

-But...

-The girl is strange no question.

-She’s 10, how can she scare you?

-She is, that's all. Oh. » He bent over and put a soft kiss on Lucas's lips. « Hello, by the way. » Then he started walking toward the living room. Lucas, on his heel, was still thinking. « Still... » He laughed. « All this for a kid...

-She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind close doors she’s latex and whips... » Eliott answered, taking a seat on the ageless couch. Surprised of this crazy answer, Lucas remained speechless for a few seconds.

« You weirdo... » He finally cracked, collapsing on the couch before snuggling up against him.

« I’m not weird. I am limited edition. »

Lucas smiled. Indeed, there weren't two like him. In this dimension at least. Would he be tired, someday, of listening to his crazy stories, his crazy ideas? It was obvious that Eliott didn't really think that the little neighbour was a bondage fan. He said that simply to make him laugh, he, Lucas, always so serious, down-to-earth. Eliott was aware of this, he had the imagination and the necessary "craziness" that Lucas lacked. He had the power to bring forth the most beautiful smile on his lips. So indeed, he used and abused of that power.

« Well... What do you want to do? » Lucas asked after a long silence.

« I don’t know, what do you want to do ? »

It had been a full week since Lucas knew they would have the apartment for both of them so, of course, he had imagined every possible places where they could make love. The kitchen countertop exceeded by far all other options. But for now, he had another idea in mind...

« Do you know what I liked to do when I was a kid, alone at home? -Tell me. » Eliott answered, gazing his laughing eyes into Lucas's. « You'll think it's stupid. -Tell me ! -Blanket forts. » He said shyly, lowering his eyes. Eliott smiled. « Alright ! » He cheered, getting up suddenly. « What are we starting with? » He asked, slapping his own thighs like a strange warrior.

« Don't you want to change out of your clothes first? » If Lucas wore his jogging and tee-shirt since morning, the perfect outfit for a good chill-out sunday, Eliott was still wearing his tight jeans and wet hoodie. « Bébé... » He started to say, using this nickname to annoy Lucas as he thought it was ridiculous. « I don't fit in your clothes.

« Not mine, you idiot, I'm sure Mika's would fit perfectly... » Lucas replied, getting up before walking toward his roommate's bedroom. He came out a minute later, a jogging and a white tee-shirt in his arms. « Here, try this and put your sweatshirt on the radiator. » He gave the clothes to Eliott. The latter, smiling, grabbed his chin with infinite sweetness, made him raise his face and kissed him tenderly. « Thank you. » Eliott sighed before taking off his hoodie and jeans. Lucas let his eyes lingered on his boyfriend's body. He never would have thought he could feel so strongly attracted by a body of a boy or even a girl. Even after two months of relationship, he couldn't help but feel this sweet pain in his belly caused by the view of Eliott's skin. Once changed, the young man turned to Lucas. « It's perfect. You're right it's better like that.

-However not a word to Mika, he'd kill me on the spot. -No problem, bébé. -Putain, stop with that! -Sorry but it's funny. -No funny... » Lucas pouted. « Well! What do we do now? » Eliott asked again, too happy to have such an impact on the boy who haunted all his own nights. « First of all, we have to make room... Push the table. »

Eliott ridded the coffee table of every objects which were on it in order to move it against one of the walls. Lucas pushed the heavy couch next to the dining table to create a space big enough for the fort.

« Damn, you’re strong for a little thing... » Eliott told with a mocking look.

« I keep my cards hidden Eliott, I keep my cards hidden... »

Once the furniture was pushed to the sides, Lucas went to explore every corner of the apartment and brought back all the sheets and blankets he could find.

« Step aside and watch a pro... »

Without waiting, Eliott grabbed a white sheet, tied it to an old woolen blanket, and tried to hook one of the corners to a small bookcase. The fort was taking shape but Lucas wasn't moving, watching his boyfriend with skeptical eyes. As Eliott prepared to lay a heavy blanket on top of the fort, Lucas spoke again. « It'll break everything if you put that on it.

-You’re questioning my methods ? 

-I’m not questioning, I’m saying it’s stupid. »

Leaving Eliott to his frustration, Lucas walked to the speaker on the coffee table, plugged in his phone and started one of his favourite songs, Comfortably numb by Pink Floyd.

« Fuck... »

Lucas turned around and saw the roof of the fort collapsed on itself in front of Eliott, useless and dissapointed, passing his hand through his hair. The two young men came back to work even more, this time, showing an incredible cooperation. A few minutes later, the result surpassed all Lucas's hopes.

Their blanket fort was large and colored. The floor was covered by a thick mattress on which were disperced many covers of different materials and four pillows of different sizes. This was perfect.

The first to come in the fort was Eliott, crawling, he disappeared under the covers. Lucas turned off the living room's main light, turned on a little bedside lamp on the bookcase and followed him closely. Under the covers, the boy found Eliott lying comfortably on the mattress, all the pillows on his side. Lucas lay on his back, close to him. He still lacked one or two pillows to feel totally comfy though...

« Pillows are over-rated... » He sighed.

In response, Eliott threw one of the pillows on his face. Lucas replied, lashing his stomach with the same pillow. Bursting into laughter, Eliott stepped over Lucas, sat on his stomach and immobilised him without any difficulty, his wrists in his hands above his head. Lucas frowned.

« Admit it, I'm stronger than you. »

Not knowing what to say, Lucas remained silent and sulked.

« Hate me all you want. You can’t deny we spend wonderful time together.

-I don't hate you. » Suddenly Lucas recovered all his seriousness. « I could never hate you. »

Smiling and visibly touched by Lucas' answer, Eliott released him, handed him two of the pillows and stretched out. The two young men lay on their backs side by side.

« Wait, stay right there, I’ve got a song I want to listen now. » The oldest of the two boys crawled to the exit of their fort. For a few short minutes, Lucas heard him coming and going in the living room. The first notes of a song started to escape from the speaker. Eliott reappeared at the entrance to the fort. He had gotten rid of his clothes, wearing only his black boxer. He held a joint in his left hand. He lay on his back, lit the joint and took a long, deep puff. Unable to help himself, Lucas shifted and dropped his head on Eliott's torso.

Le spleen n'est plus à la mode, c'est pas compliqué d'être heureux

A song with a deep meaning for Eliott... Lucas's lips twisted into a melancholy smile. He understood why Eliott had chosen that song. He decided to remain silent. He closed his eyes and got as close as possible to the young man's body.

« You’re very warm… It’s nice. » He whispered.

« And you smell good. » Eliott answered. « I wish we could stay here forever. » He added in a bittersweet voice.

Lucas sighed, he took the joint and took a first puff. The air was now saturated with herbaceous smoke, the rain was hitting the window, punctuating the few silences conceded by the music. After a long time, it was Lucas' turn to straighten up, with sweet gestures, he sat down on Eliott's belly and took all his courage in his hands to gaze into his light blue eyes.

« I love you. » He whispered, as if he was out of breath. Eliott, still looking into his eyes, said nothing, took the joint and took a puff.  « I'm »... Lucas bended over and kissed Eliott's lips.  « ...completely... » A kiss on his jaw.  « ...and utterly... » A new one in the neck. « ...in love... » On the collarbone « With you » On the chest.

Shivering and unable to hold a hoarse groan of pleasure, Eliott put his hands on Lucas's face, brought him close to him and put his lips on his.

Le spleen n'est plus à la mode, c'est pas compliqué d'être heureux

Not thinking about words strong enough to respond to those of Lucas, Eliott kissed him, completely surrendered to him. The meeting of their two mouths became warm, deep and passionate.

Tout, il faudrait tout oublier

On joue, mais là, j'ai trop joué

Feeling only one desire, to become one with Lucas, Eliott clung to him like to a life ring. Tasting his lips and his breath, forgetting to breathe, he truely wanted to give back these wonderful love words to Lucas, but for that, it would have been necessary to move away from his lips, impossible.

Ce bonheur, si je le veux, je l'aurai

Eliott would have liked to love him with his words, words which he couldn't find so he gave him his whole soul through his lips. Hands in his hair, arched back to better fit the shape of his body, he forgot everything. Lucas was the only thing to exist, his eyes, his lips, his body.  

N'existe pas sans son contraire, une jeunesse pleine de sentiments

Tout, il faudrait tout oublier

Opening his eyes after a long long time, Eliott put his forehead against Lucas's, breathless, flushed cheeks. The two young men gazed into each other's eyes. In the History, the blue colour had never been considered as a warm color, it was a very big mistake, Eliott thought, there was nothing warmer and more comforting than Lucas's blue eyes.

On joue, mais là, j'ai trop joué

Ce bonheur, si je le veux, je l'aurai

Lucas, with a wide gesture, took his tee-shirt off before resting his forehead against Eliott's one. « Kiss me again. » He whispered. Too happy to be permitted to do what he was craving for, Eliott push his boyfriend under his body and rested his wet lips against his. This time, his hands didn't stay in his hair, they became more adventurous, stroking his cheek, his neck, his chest, discovering his belly.

Le spleen n'est plus à la mode, c'est pas compliqué d'être heureux

Ferme les yeux, oublie que tu es toujours seul

Finally, Eliott's hand slipped under the fabric of Lucas's pants, caressed the groin area and made his way between his legs. Then, while he began to stroke him from the base of his penis to its head, he felt some hands slip into his own boxer. Eliott gazed into Lucas's eyes. « Together and we're waiting for each other... » Lucas whispered in a sigh, like a child dictating the rules of a new game.

C'est simple, sois juste heureux, si tu l'voulais, tu le s'rais

Ce bonheur, si je le veux, je l'aurai

In a childish setting, under colourful blankets and swirls of smoke, the two teenagers loved each other to the rhythm of the music. Then, once the desire was consumed, their bodies rested and their spirits soothed, Eliott and Lucas fell asleep, huddled together.

Le spleen n'est plus à la mode, c'est pas compliqué d'être heureux

It wasn't very late when Manon came back home so she was surprised not to hear a single noise. Had Lucas left the apartment without locking the door? Weird... Arrived in the living room, she discovered the pile of blankets a.k.a the blankets fort of his roomate and his boyfriend. On tiptoe, she approached, leaned over and ran her head through the white sheet. The two teenagers slept, cuddling in underwear. Manon bit his lip. God, they were beautiful... Reluctantly, she turned away from this peaceful scene. On the way to her room, she picked up a jogging and a tee-shirt which she recognized belonging to Mika and put them in his room. They could thank her later...

note : Eliott’s song is Tout oublier by Angèle feat. Roméo Elvis (I’m sorry I can’t put any link on here...)

[writinginthesecrettrees]

In the Dark

The woods are always dark.  Spruce trees fill the forest with shadows, birch trees gleaming like pale ghosts. Tangles of thorns and leafy bushes thread through the trunks, creating an impassable wall of green. Birds fly among the upper limbs of the trees and the forest floor is silent, but for the wolves.

There’s a path through the forest, narrow and winding through the thickets and leading to a small clearing. Grandmother lives there, in the middle of the forest.  She never leaves the forest anymore, stays safely hidden in the cool dark sanctuary of her secret clearing. The trees tower over her house, boughs intertwining high above and casting the clearing into perpetual dusk. Ferns and monkshood and Lenten roses grow around her home, almost glowing in the dark.  Every week, one of the villagers travels through the woods to bring supplies to Grandmother.

“Look sharp, Ros, and watch the flowers. They will guide your steps,” Uncle Gilmar tells her. He is Grandmother’s first child and has led the village since long before Roslyn was born. In all her life, she hasn’t once seen him smile.

“The flowers are not in bloom,” Uncle Andar says. He is another of Grandmother’s sons, though not so old as Gilmar. They are similar in appearance, solidly built and of average height, with the blond hair and pale skin so common among the villagers. “Let our sweet Rose take her turn in the summer, when the path is more clearly marked and the wolves are not so hungry.”

Gilmar frowns. “It is time, Andar. Ros is grown, and Grandmother wants to meet her.”

“Then one of us should guide her. One who knows the path and its dangers.”

Roslyn looks into the forest as Gilmar and Andar argue. It looms over the village, dark and menacing in the predawn light. She’s never been in the forest, though all her life she’s heard tales of its dangers. The wolves have been howling hungry this winter. The village has faced hunger as well.

“What say you, Rose?”

Roslyn turns back to the uncles. Andar is frowning and Gilmar does not seem pleased.

“Your pardon, Uncles. I was distracted.”

Andar’s frown deepens.  “You see, Gilmar? She is too young. She is not ready to make the trip.”

“Her mother has agreed that it is time. She cannot stay in the village forever.”

“Dagmar forgets the dangers of the woods.”

“But you have prepared me, Uncle,” Roslyn says. “I will be careful, and if the flowers are not in bloom–well, the plants are still there. Mother has taught me the shape of the leaves.”

Andar sighs.  “Very well. I am thrice overruled.”

Gilmar nods at him, and turns to Roslyn. “You will leave at noon. Your mother will help you prepare,” he says.

And they leave her.

*

Dagmar is beautiful. Her honey-gold hair hangs shining and straight, her eyes are the green of new leaves, and her complexion is smooth and pale as cream. She embodies grace and serenity in all she does. Even now, as she flits from one corner of their house to another gathering everything Roslyn will need, she seems elegant.

“You’ll need this,” she says in her musical voice, pressing a large basket into Roslyn’s hands. “Everything Grandmother will need is in there. And here–Grandmother’s mending is done; you will bring that as well.  What else…”

Dagmar brings out a thick woolen cape, red as blood, shaking it out and holding it up in the lantern’s light. “You will wear this. Red is very becoming on you, Roslyn.”

Thank you, Mother.” Roslyn takes the cape, fastens it about her throat. The hem swirls around her feet, enveloping her in warmth. It is welcome in the late winter chill.

Dagmar smiles brightly at her. “It seems just yesterday I was setting out on my first trip through the woods. It’s not a long trip, but the way can be hard to find. You will mind that you stay on the path, and do not tarry?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Then go. Travel quickly, and you should come to Grandmother’s by sundown. Until tomorrow, child, stay safe.”

Roslyn lifts the hood of her cape, takes the basket, and leaves the safety of the house.

*

The woods are dark, but the chill does not penetrate the cape Roslyn wears. The wolves are silent, their howls stilled by the sun. The wind whips at her, pulling at her cloak and teasing her hair into a mass of tangles. Snow lies in patches on the ground.  In the dim green light, the leaves of monkshood and ivy lead Roslyn through the forest, past thickets and trees, over icy streams and around moss-covered boulders. Early snowdrops blossom along the way. Grandmother may like those, and that’s all the reason Roslyn needs to step just off the path and pluck one.

“Hello, little girl.”

The voice is rough, and startles her so that she drops her basket. The speaker, when she looks at him, is a man of middling years. He is dressed all in furs, and his hair is long and unkempt.

“But I’ve frightened you. That was not my intent,” he says. He steps forward slowly, hands spread and an easy grin on his face. “Let me help you with that basket.”

“Thank you, no. I can manage.” Roslyn kneels in the snow and tries to gather the scattered contents, but her hands are clumsy and she can’t pack the basket as it was before.

“The fault is entirely mine. Really, I must insist.”

He still smiles, and Roslyn’s surprise is fading. He is only one man, after all, and Uncle Gilmar would never have sent her through the forest if she could not handle one lone man.

“I suppose I must accept.”

She stands, brushing away the snow that clings to her cape. He works quickly, gathering the wrapped packages and looking curiously at each.

“Where are you going with such a heavy load, little girl?”

“I am not a little girl, and it is no concern of yours.”

His teeth flash white in his silent laugh. “Suppose I make it my business.”

“Suppose I summon my uncles.”

Again, the silent laughter. “I mean no harm. I am merely concerned. The woods are dark, and not safe to travelers after the sun sets.”

“Then I should be on my way, sir. Thank you for your assistance, and good day.” Roslyn takes up her basket, and returns to the path.

The man follows behind her, just off the path.

Roslyn takes a few steps, and stops. “Who are you?”

“Is that any concern of yours?”

“When you follow me? Yes.”

“And who is to say I’m following you? Perhaps we merely travel in the same direction.” His grin is mocking.

“Doubtful.”

“And why is that?”

“Grandmother is the only person who lives in this direction.”

“And if I said I was continuing through the woods, past wherever your Grandmother lives?”

“Then I would remind you that the woods are not safe for travelers after sunset.”

He laughs aloud now, and the sound makes Roslyn shiver. “True enough, little girl. And since my company is unwelcome, I’ll take my leave.”

He bounds away into the woods.  Roslyn stares after him, uneasy.  Perhaps it is just that he’s the first stranger she’s seen in her life–as the youngest of all the villagers, she hasn’t been outside the village since birth and Dagmar always kept her inside when traders came to visit. With a quick shake of her head, Roslyn pushes her unease to the back of her mind, and continues down the path, just a little faster than before.

*

The sun has nearly set when Roslyn arrives at Grandmother’s clearing. Grandmother’s garden is withered and frostbitten, nearly dead after the bitter winter cold. The windows glow golden with candlelight, although Grandmother must be sleeping and there should be no one there to tend the flames. A wolf howls in the forest, long and lonely and nearer than Roslyn has ever heard before. The sound sends shivers up her spine and hurries her steps to the house.

She has no need of the key Uncle Gilmar gave her; the door is unlatched and opens at her touch.

Roslyn enters the house carefully. It’s overly warm and the house smells of tallow and burning leaves. The furniture, chairs and tables and shelves, has been tossed about and broken. She moves silently as Uncle Andar taught her, leaving her cloak and Grandmother’s basket at the door while she searches the house for the intruder who must be there.

She finds him in the bedroom, surrounded by feathers torn from the mattress and pillows. The blankets are in tatters, and he seems larger than he did in the woods.  Roslyn feels fear for the first time in her life, gripping her heart like an icy fist.

His eyes glitter, and his teeth are very white in his swarthy face. “Hello, little girl,” he says, his voice a mocking singsong.

“You–you should not be here,”  she whispers. She wants to scream, but her voice won’t come.

“And why is that?”

“Grandmother won’t like it.”

He laughs then, throwing his head back and howling with glee.  “I’ve searched the house, little girl. There’s no one here but me… and now you.”

She trembles, but stands tall and looks him in the eye. “And just who are you? Why have you destroyed Grandmother’s house? She’s not the only one who won’t like it.”

“You think I fear your uncles?”

“I think that you should.”

“Perhaps.” His eyes close, and he breathes deeply. “But the sun is setting, little girl. Whether I fear your uncles or not will make no difference to you.”

Roslyn can almost feel his heart beating, faster and faster, racing with excitement.  He seems to grow larger, and darker.  His ears grow long and pointed, his eyes round and yellow as the sun and just as terrifying. He falls forwards, his hands turning to enormous paws with wickedly sharp claws. Black fur ripples out, covering his body as his clothing falls away, his face lengthens, and then he is a wolf–the largest wolf Roslyn has ever seen. His growl fills the room with a deep rumble.

She tenses, waiting for the wolf to strike.

He leaps for her, sailing across the room with paws extended and mouth gaping, but Roslyn slips to the side, fast as a shadow, twisting about to land on his back.  Her fangs sink into the wolf’s throat, cutting through skin and muscle as Dagmar taught her years ago on the night she was born–the night that she died.  The wolf struggles, a high whine escaping his mouth.  Roslyn can see the terror–finally–in his eyes.  Her fangs sink deeper into the wolf’s throat, and hot blood floods her mouth. She can feel his strength draining with his blood, and his eyes grow peaceful.

She could stop now, she recalls.  Uncle Gilmar taught her to control the feeding, that her supper needn’t die. Roslyn pulls back and gazes at the wolf, sprawled on the wooden floor and surrounded by the destruction he wrought in Grandmother’s house.

“You would have killed me,” she says quietly.  “And Grandmother, and Mother, and my uncles, and everyone else.”

The wolf doesn’t respond. He can’t now, on the edge of death, his strength almost gone.

Roslyn hears the cellar door open in the next room.  She smiles down at the wolf, licks his blood from her lips.

“Come see, Grandmother.  I’ve brought you a treat.”

So that’s a thing I wrote. I’m gonna add a little commentary down here, just because I wrote this a while ago and retyping it brought back memories of “behind the scenes” stuff.

Hopefully, it’s clear that Roslyn and her “family” are vampires. I think it’s fairly clear that “man in the woods” was a werewolf. My basic premise was “everyone’s done Big Bad Wolf as a werewolf, but let’s add vampires!”

That led to a lot of the descriptions of the forest as deep and dark - had to be a reason the vampires could go traipsing through at all hours of the day. It’s also why the villagers are described as pale - that, and I have the setting as northern Europe. I remember doing research on what sort of trees and stuff I could have there.

I didn’t want to give away the vampire thing too early.

The path being edged with monkshood is because monkshood=wolfsbane=the werewolves of the forest can’t get you there. Grandmother’s garden is also filled with it (and Lenten roses, which is a type of hellebore, which is poison and pretty), so the long winter killing her garden is why “man in the woods” was able to get in - the plants protecting her home had died.

I tried to use language to set a tone for the piece. And the wolf repeating the “hello, little girl,” line was very intentional. I wanted to make him unsettling and threatening in that way that many women have experienced - interesting to note that my workshopping group was all men, except for me, and they really didn’t pick up on it. Whereas my mother, when I was reading her just the interaction in the woods, thought he was absolutely terrifying.

If anyone has a question about anything in the story, please ask me! I’m really proud of this piece, and I would love to talk about it more.